We Witnessed (And Joined In) A Brutal Skanking

Last night The Intersection was inhabited by what appeared to be evacuees from a bomb scare at the neighborhood AARP travelogue.
And being the consummate entertainment complex that it is, staff responded in kind by offering a rollicking dancehall style party for the victims.

Rhythm was provided by the English Beat who, from the moment they strapped on, busted out irresistible, soul kissed ska like; Hands Off...She's Mine, Tears Of A Clown, Twist & Crawl, Mirror In The Bathroom, Sooner Or Later and the Staple Singer's, I'll Take You There.

We almost didn't put forth the effort to go to this show, but we're grateful we pushed our little envelope, for I believe we were skanking, my wife and I.

We, including my stepson and his wife pretty soon, would plunk down serious cash (under $100) to do this again. Go See Them Now!

The Mighty Pines Of Montague

At least 6, maybe 7 badly written pages ago I started writing about what criteria i might ponder when considering the notion of starting an upbeat, pop combo. And just after that wadded up 7th page I decided that the criteria were too numerous and too ludicrous to mention.
So I whittled down what I thought were at least a few of the corest of the core considerations. And that these of course can be used in tandem with a multitude of other subjective and perhaps less useful guidelines that you yourself might come up with, or, you could simply just chuck this to the wayside and go back to typing meaningless drivel.

First) Look for skills that knock you back a bit (you'll know what I mean when you hear it).

Second) And that these skills will compliment your own (and others if there are more than you).

Third) With any luck you will see yourself having nice, cordial conversations with this person (possibly on more than one occasion).

Fourth) Prepare to keep looking.


There now, feel free to print this out or forward on to others as a friendly, helpful hint.

Photo: The Shaggs from 1968's Philosophy Of The World
(from isyes.blogspot.com)

Gertie Turns Thirty

My oldest daughter just celebrated her thirtieth birthday. A landmark birthday. And a solemn birthday.
I know it to be a landmark birthday because Walgreen's has a card slot for a 30 year old.
I think she's a little miffed about the whole thing. Not so much about Walgreen's but I wonder if it's because I neglected to place a 4th grade picture of her in the Times-Indicator with the message, Looky Looky Who's Thirty!

I wish I could find words for her that would help slow things down for a while. Kind of like stopping the clock but we would still be moving. The only thing I can say with absolute conviction is that I love her, and that it's a process, my dear. We should be thankful we are able to be a part of it.

Hey Sunshine, you're on deck!

V-ROOM V-ROOM

James, who lived down the street, and myself, turned out to be pretty good at mimicking the sound of the shovelhead slap by using a couple of stiff playing cards held by a clothes pin, flapping through the spokes of a '66, Huffy Davison.
It also must be told that we were equally adept at spotting discarded, still smoke-able cigarette butts along the side of the road. Cigarette butts that were screaming at us for one more chance at life. We would play God, Jim and I.










Then one Saturday morning, Mike, Pete's cousin, showed up in our neighborhood with a Mattel V-RRoom Motor on his bike. A small crowd gathered.
I remember feeling humbled. I had only seen these on the Saturday morning toy commercials that came on between the cartoons.
This. This sound. This fake motorcycle sound. It comes from money. Only money can make this sound, Jim said.
And besides, everybody knows you don't start a motorcycle with a key in a switch on the handle bars. You kick start the son-of-a-guns, right Jimmy?

Cheeze And Rice

Jesus Christ! I mean no blasphemy here, it's more about the exclamation point. And no, I really don't want to tick the big guy off, he or someone similar in their organization have done great things for me, but Jesus Christ!
Look at this beautifully ornate, art deco style theatre, The New Fremont, which later, as many of us know, became the OZ - now a hair salon for Christ's sake.
At what time exactly did the character of this town decide to take a hike and never return.
Maybe, in my state of giddiness to dig up what was, I should also be tempering my archeology with the possibility of discovering disappointment. This shift in expectation would allow me to diffuse any awkward, public or private displays of bummed-outed-ness well in advance, and allow me to continue this journey with renewed vigor.